Got Day? Go Time: Another Year of Grateful

My purse slid off the passenger seat yesterday morning as I piloted the Swagger Wagon into the parking lot at work. My purse was unzipped. Of course it was. I heard the quarters roll under the passenger seat and the phone knocking against the console, no doubt on its way to nestle snugly in the crack, just out of reach, requiring me to scrape my knuckles to dig it out. I grumbled as I stretched across the Swagger Wagon to collect my things, and I carelessly scooped everything back into the bag.

It’s almost Thanksgiving. I haven’t posted 25 days of gratitude. Christmas teddy bears are mingling with the pilgrim bear and ceramic turkey in the dining room. I'm trying to get a jump on decorating, and frankly, I think the pilgrim and the turkey looked lonely. It’s not that I don’t feel grateful. I do. But, my Facebook "words of the year" are "Go, day, got, time." Go day, got time? Got day, go time? No matter how you arrange them, they tell the story of my life. In one word? Busy.

My purse tells the story pretty well too:

I’m grateful for pink and purple hair bows that remind me of a fluttering fairy princess preschooler who loves her teachers and her mommy too. I’m grateful that she has enough hair to pull into a ponytail and that she wants to wear a ponytail just like me.

I’m grateful for a Batman whistle that reminds me of a million weekend birthday parties—parties for the good friends of a kind hearted first grader who loves them. I’m grateful he has friends and that he wants to go to a million birthday parties to celebrate their special moments.

I’m grateful for happy meal toys that remind me of a Sunday afternoon mommy date. I’m grateful for French fries too. They’re delicious.

I’m grateful for tiny pink ballet slippers that remind me that I am loved. They were my slippers. Real Capezios, saved for 35 years in the hope that another little blonde would wear them and love them. She does.

I’m grateful for oranges and runner chow that remind me that I’m not old yet. I can run. I can swim. I can stretch. And I can bounce for hours on a trampoline with a kind hearted first grader and a fluttering fairy princess preschooler.

I’m grateful for real, vintage handkerchiefs to wipe runny noses and clean glasses that saw a rainstorm. I’m grateful for the glasses and the rainstorm too.

I’m grateful for fancy business card cases, because, well, sparkles!  I’m more grateful for the business cards inside it, because they remind me that I have a good job in good company at a good company .

I’m grateful for the three ketchup packets that I’m apparently carrying every day, because they remind me that I can feed my family food that they like whenever they like. That’s a privilege that so many don’t have right now.

I’m grateful for wet wipes because they remind me that I have the means to take care of sore bottoms. I’m more grateful that I don’t have to wipe sore bottoms all that often any more. Potty training is a blessing.

I’m grateful for lip gloss, nail polish, and hair clips because some days, they make me feel pretty or important or more like a grown up woman than a teenage girl, or on the better days, more like a teenage girl than like a grown up woman.  There’s value in self-esteem that goes far deeper than lip gloss and hair clips.

I sighed and grumbled as I gathered my scattered things. I scraped my knuckles digging my phone from the cavern between the seats. And tonight, I'm grateful for all of those things and so much more:

Happy Thanksgiving!